


Bound

by ShnastySoup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Violence, Other, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShnastySoup/pseuds/ShnastySoup
Summary: A demon and an angel bound to their vessels under the same roof. Hilarity ensues.Please don't diss for being oc-centered before you read.





	1. Salt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to try something different.  
> Also, I've been watching supernatural.

"Ow! Fuck! What did you-" Bahzae looked at his meatsuit's shirtless chest. A binding symbol. One he couldn't break on his own, much to the demon's chagrin. He struggled in the searing, binding chains on his wrists.  
Iron. Rusted with holy water, drenched in salt.  
What the fuck kind of bullshit was this?

Bahzae snapped his head around for someone to screech at, and seeing nobody in the basement room made him seethe in rage. Upon closer inspection, well, as close as he could get, judging by the ritual-esque marks on the floor and the lovely...decorations...he determined he had been summoned to purposely become trapped. But why?

The room was searched with deep blue eyes that bled into true blackness with zero light reflection save for the bleak white pupils painted on. Said eyes found what was probably the strongest devil's trap there was painted directly below him in blood and drawn over and over in chalk. Chalk packed with salt. Bahzae could tell. He's seen it before. It was effectively an easy way to make salt lines and strengthen devil's traps.

The fact that one must count every grain of salt to step over was made even more difficult thanks to the little game of 'is that a dirty salt grain or a bit of chalk' and if they got it wrong, they had to start all over. More fucking impossible than basic salt lines. People have even used it to keep Hellhounds away. This person really wanted him to stay, if the itchy, blistering binds weren't making it clear enough.

Footsteps. He heard footsteps.

Some old hag.

"You're awake. You belong to me now."

"Since when?"

"Since about an hour ago. You're a heavy sleeper. That needs to stop."

The hag was carrying a body over her shoulder to a chair...that had an angel trap under it. She pretty much chucked the body onto the chair like a worthless sack of potatoes, then tied it down. Turns out the body was alive, and started to wake up.

"Nnn...hunh...? Mom...?"

"Shut up."

"What are you doing...? Why are me and Dante tied up?"

"I'm pulling your guardian angel off his high horse. If he wants to protect this family he can serve it too. And that isn't your brother anymore."

Guardian angel? She must be on something. As dumb as those assholes are, there's no way one would come now, not even if she beckoned for them.

Wait, brother?  
  
The hag started a summoning ritual. A ritual for an angel. A Seraphim, specifically. What the fuck.

And it actually came. It even used the meatsuit provided. Damn dumbass giant chickens-

"Why have you..."

The bright blue eyes of the Seraphim's meatsuit widened. They widened and kept widening as it slowly realized the predicament it was in. It saw Bahzae chained down, saw the blood, saw the fact that the hag used her sons as his and its meatsuits. It tried struggling. Tried leaving the meatsuit. Tried screaming. It was slapped when it tried that.

"W-why...?"

The bitch slapped it again. The Seraphim was crying now. Large, shiny, disgusting tears were falling from the meatsuit's eyes. It bowed its head down and started muttering something, but its stolen voice was too whiny and hiccup-y to understand. It was probably praying. Praying for its big magic man in the sky to save it. Yeah, it was definitely fucked.

"Sleep."

Bahzae blacked out, sitting across from the very creature he had been taught to loathe.


	2. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy holy fire is fun

His eyes shot open quicker than an M-134 Minigun and Bahzae sat up, a dull _thump_ sounding behind him. Of course, that was the least of his growing list of concerns.

He'd been laid down on an old blanket on the floor in some kind of empty room. Dingy may have been the word that came to mind, and while the room _is_ kind of gloomy, it certainly isn't _drab_. It's...blue. The kind of blue a parent would paint their child's room. Like a robin's egg blue, but far more gentle to a youth's eyes. The paint was worn and kind of pleasant to him for some odd reason. The familiarity of the room's air made him quiver in his meatsuit.

This room belonged to the brothers. The very same brothers he and his _little Seraph buddy_ were possessing.

The demon stole a glance at the barred window and sighed. Salted iron. Again. He's not getting a break, is he?

He wondered where the thump came from and finally turned to answer that question, seeing the bleary Seraphim trying to wake itself up lazily, its meatsuit's red hair all messed up. The blue eyes were surrounded in red from crying. A yawn sounded from its oddly hoarse throat, likely from screaming.

Bahzae's neck burned as if someone had poured holy water over it. He moved his hand around his neck and realized he was wearing an iron chain necklace of sorts that was treated the same way his chains were before. He also realized it had a little iron devil's trap on it. As far as he was concerned, Bahzae couldn't take it off, and his powers were nullified thanks to it.

He looked the miserable Seraphim over. It was crying again. It had curled up into a ball and wasn't moving, but he could hear the sniffles and incoherent prayers. He almost wanted to comfort the Seraph; it was taking all of this far worse than he was. So much for a warrior. Bahzae didn't even know why he was afraid of the damn things.

"Question: Who the fuck even are you?"

Teary eyes looked in his general direction.

"M-my name is Luxnox..."

"Bahzae. I know what you are."

Luxnox looked him up and down.

"...And I you."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"Luxnox is a mouthful. You're Luxie now."

"Oh...okay..."

"Or Nightlight." A deep chuckle sounded from him.

'Nightlight' cocked its head to the side, continuously thinning streams of tears trickling from a single set of confused eyes until the streams halted. Bahzae had heard this particular Seraphim had six eyes to match its six wings and, interestingly enough, despite its supposed 'immense power', its true form was only about as bright as the burning ball of hatefire in Earth's sky. In a cold country. _Slightly_ cloudy.

Luxnox literally meant night light to some degree.

And thus, " _Nightlight_." Bahzae smirked to himself. Head tilting intensifies.

"Why?"

"Your name literally fucking means 'night light' in Latin, more or less. You should've seen that shit flying at you a mile away."

A quiet 'oh' escaped from a set of soft, quivering, pale pink lips, dulling baby blues darting about the room and finally gathering the courage to lock with expressionless, dark, deep sapphires that bled into white dots on reflectionless blacks like veins in those eyes bursting.

"...Do the veins actually explode?"

"Why the fuck would that happen?"

"It...sorry..."

The door burst open and the hag limped in with a jar of sorts, a bucket of water, and a blindfold over her face.

"Show me your wings, angel."

Luxie shuddered and its eyes widened in fear. Why was it so scared?

"Show me your wings, angel. _Now_."

Flames burst from the Seraph's back, a set of six wings formed and the intensity of their light dulled as they appeared to have cooled. One smaller set hid its eyes, another its legs, and the middle set remained in a resting position.

The woman limped over and dragged the Seraph to the left wall of the room and poured the contents of the jar over its wings. She then took out a match and struck it. The demon's eyes widened.

She dropped the match onto the angel's wings.

The blood-curdling screech that sounded from the other left Bahzae frozen in place. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't think. All he could do was stare as the Seraph's wings were burnt off. As it scratched at the walls with its dull nails. As it cried out in pain.

When the flames had reached its back, the bitch had the audacity to just stare at it for a moment, then dumped the bucket of water on it, dousing the fire.

The Seraph wheezed and whimpered, coughing.

The woman clutched one of the burnt wings and snapped it. Like, the whole fucking joint disconnected and she just tossed it aside. The screech was deafening. She kept going and going until all that was left was the stubs in its back.

Then she ripped the wing stubs _out of their fucking sockets_.

The screams, oh Lucifer, the _screams_.

Bahzae stared in absolute terror as the old hag simply picked up the bloodied wings and left, leaving a sad little first aid kit.

"Patch him up, demon. Or leave him to bleed out his vessel. I don't care. The boy served his purpose."

The slam of the door and the telltale click of a lock sent Bahzae into action. The demon scrambled towards the dry heaving Seraph, the pained whimpers it made calling out to his very being.

He couldn't say why sight of this holy being's suffering caused him so much distress. It's not like he was religious in any way before he turned. He technically wasn't even human before. Something close enough not to be sent to purgatory, just not exactly human. Still climbing the evolutionary chain before the angels came down and wiped everything out like it was worthless so God's little science projects had a place to live.

Fuckers. He hated angels down to his very core.

So why did it hurt so much to see the sight before him?

Bahzae found the match and studied it. It could be used again.

Luxie shuffled, turning slightly to face him with tearful eyes, probably wondering what Bahzae was going to do.

"I'm going to cauterize your wounds and stitch them shut, in case you were wondering."

A set of now bright blue eyes with pure white pupils widened in fear.

"N-NO! No! It- I- It's fine, I can heal it on my...own..."

Its brows furrowed in concentration, its whole body shaking.

"I...I can..."

After a moment of what was apparently intense concentration, its eyes widened in a horrific realization. Tears flowed like rivers as it collapsed in defeat. Luxie's voice was barely above a whisper as it sobbed on the ground, blood trickling from the six holes on its back. 

_"I...can't..."_


End file.
